Meet The Monster
by Alysis The Guard
Summary: Sexual tension, a basketball game, and human pride are the catalysts that could set off the next Balkan War. WIP, AU/AR, TWT, M/F, OC, Pre-Shash, ConCrit, Non-Con, H/C, UST. Rated T for violent content and language.


Well, hello FF. It's been too long, I must say. This story (which is still in the works plot-wise to bear with it) mainly came from my friend Chesty who was informing me on the higher points of the Russo-Serbian alliance stuff when she told me an interesting story. Apparently not too long ago Serbia lost a basketball game to Albania, whose citizens quickly filled Serbian streets and went on a rampage of celebration. A couple Serbian citizens were even killed. So that's where the basis of this story came from. My apologies if it's not exactly historically flush, but I'm doing the best I can. This series is a gift to the friend that inspired it for tolerating all my bullshit the last year we've roleplayed together. I love you, Chesty! 3

Oh, and this is the "censored" version of this story. Breaking the ToS is not something I'm looking into doing, if I can help it. The uncensored version can be found on my AdultFanFiction page.

Pairings :: AlbaniaOC (Serbia; non-consentual), RussiaOC (Serbia)

Content :: WIP, AU/AR, TWT, M/F, OC, Pre-Shash, ConCrit, Non-Con, H/C, UST

Spoilers :: Never

Fic Theme Song :: "Meet The Monster" - Five Finger Death Punch

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C h a p t e r O n e

Cornered

"So let me get this straight..." Valon shook his head, dark ringlets dancing around his face as he eyed the female before him wearily. She looked too serious to be lying, but one could never tell with her. She was the queen of bullshit. "...All it takes for me to make you my slave for an hour is to beat you at a game of one-on-one?"

He'd only come to avoid pissing Ivan off. Anytime he refused to talk to her Ivan would step in and force him into doing what she said. But this time, it seemed like an honest bet. She'd sent him a text asking him to meet her at the basketball court of her apartments for a small chat, and now that he knew what was in store he couldn't be happier. Already there were evil plans being concocted between his ears.

The female nodded, a sly smile spreading onto her plump lips as her hand twisted a basketball between them. "No tricks, no weapons. One clean match." She stopped spinning the ball, letting it drop to the ground before pinning it to the concret with a foot. "Unless you're too much of a chicken-"

"Shut up!" the male snapped, eyeing his greatest rival with a snort of disgust. She wasn't even human to him anymore; maybe, back before they hated each other, he might have found her attractive. Maybe even felt something for her. But now... now she was no better than an old swine. Just the thought of those devilish, malicious amber eyes made him sick to his stomach.

And at the same time... the national representative of Albania couldn't put into words how badly he wanted her. Every time his eyes caught the curve of her hips, sloping gently into an ample bosom, he felt himself burning with need and writhing in frustration. It wasn't that he loved her. God, no! And it was rather obvious she was no virgin (In fact, he was almost certain she and Ivan had knocked boots on more than one occasion). No, all he wanted was her; to lay claim to that flawless figure and mark her as eternally altered by his cruel touch.

Albania's eyes gave her a once-over, his gaze lingering a hair longer on her chest and he was almost certain he saw the corners of her lips twitch. Once they had returned on the female's face he allowed his lips to part in a taunting smirk, knuckles cracking against his palms. "Fine, wench," he replied, kicking the ball out from under her foot before flipping it onto the top of his foot, ankle flicking the orange ball up and into his waiting hands. "But don't expect me to go easy on you."

Her arms crossed the lower section of her torso, fingertips gripping the gray tee shirt she had been wearing before tugging it over her head. Valon watched with interest as she threw the discarded article of clothing to the bench, a red and gold sports bra still clinging to her otherwise bare torso along with a short pair of gymnastics shorts, long legs seeming to drag out for weeks before ending in an immaculate pair of white and red Nike running shoes. His eyes roved over the newly exposed skin, a tingle rushing up his spine as he pictured his fingertips running along the smooth expanse of almond-colored skin of her stomach, quickly followed by a tongue and his lips. In all reality he knew she was merely proving she had no weapons on her, but Valon couldn't help letting his mind wander at the golden opportunity.

A chuckle leaving his thin lips Valon reciprocated the action out of pure habit; it came naturally to respect the actions of a country's native when he was a foreigner in their territory. It helped avoid conflict. His shirt, too, was quickly thrown over the bench, leaving him bare chested before the brunette before him. He threw her the ball, walking to the center of the court before lowering himself in a defensive stance. "Ladies first," he said, looking over to her with an innocent look in his eyes.

She followed, hips swaying dangerously like a hypnotic pendulum, Valon's eyes drawn to them like flies to blood. Oh, what he would have given to have laid her out there on the concrete and claimed her until his name creaked out of her aching throat! But tact had to be used in those types of situations; too fast a move and she would catch on. Too slow and she would see it coming. He had to watch himself.

God, how he hated that Serbian cow. But no one would have been able to see the fire that she lit in his loins with a single smouldering look.

Mila let out a chuckle, hand bouncing the ball along the pavement as she met her rival in the middle circle of the court. Their eyes locked and the same gut-wrenching jolt that she always elicited out of Valon's nervous system coursed through him, his eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head as he suppressed the primal urges currently clawing at his throat. Patience. He needed patience. In the end, he always got what he wanted. She would rue the day she used that angelic body to fuck with his head. He'd make sure she never forgot who was the dominant Slavic power.

His arms spread out like a bird's wings Valon took off sideways as Mila faked to the left, his hand barely tipping against the ball as she turned and shot it at the hoop. It spiralled back down to earth, falling into the Serbian woman's waiting hand as she took off down the court, ball bouncing at her side and Valon hot on her heels. As she set herself for another shot Valon saw his chance, reaching forward with a muscled arm to knock the ball out of its path and into his possession.

He turned on his heel and sped back toward his own goal, Mila's slightly labored breathing not half a moment after him as he whipped in a complete circle, diverting her attention just long enough for Valon to toss the ball, which whooshed through the net effortlessly. Albania's gaze crinkled in a smirk, throwing the ball back to her. "It's not too late to quit," he said silkily. "If you admit I'm better now I'll reduce it to a half-hour."

She spat at his feet, amber eyes glowing angrily. "I don't expect a cow like you to do me any favors," she snapped in return. "I don't want your pity. I"m gonna kick your ass fair and square and show you off to everyone I know."

Valon's stomach squirmed as she spoke, the fire in his abdomen getting a keg of kerosene thrown on it as he watched the hatred flickering in her expression. He loved how her hatred flowed so freely, unabated as she stared daggers at him. The olive-skinned male had to seriously stem the flow of testosterone in his veins, lest his basketball shorts give away his rapidly growing need. She seemed to pick up on it anyway, that observant siren, her eyes roving over his slightly glistening frame with a tinge of amusement in her eyes. "Lucky shot," she added, taking of unexpectedly to the other side of the court.

They continued their physical battle for twenty or so minutes, fairly easily matched in their skill as the points wracked up for both sides. By the time they paused for a breath they were tied at nineteen, leaving only one more point to decide the winner. Both doubled over and gasped for breath, Mila's tie-making goal still resonating around the tree-lined court. Sweat ran down both their bodies, dripping off Valon's nose as he clung to his knees with his face toward the concrete. Just one more. One more and he had her.

As she sat the ball down he saw his chance. Dashing forward he snatched the ball from her side (it would have been his shot anyway), not giving her a chance to recouperate or set up a defense as he tossed the ball toward his hoop half a court away. It flew through the air at breakneck speed, bouncing off the back board with a loud THUD to roll around the metal ring. Valon's eyes followed it, praying with all his heart that it worked.

It did. As the ball fell through the net Albania's whole face split into a hellcat grin, eyes turning to watch Mila's face morph from one of arrogance and pride to nothing short of horrorstruck. His arms folded across his chest, watching as Mila's fists began to curl into fists. "Looks like I won," he said quietly, chuckling.

When she turned toward her duffel bag which sat against the chain-link fence Valon was ready, drawing a small pistol from a holster hidden on his upper thigh. The cocking of the gun made Mila freeze, hands slowly rising into the air as she turned to face Albania. He chuckled quietly, stepping forward with the gun pointed straight at his rival's head. "Sneaky little bitch," he snarled, whipping the gun sideways to strike her across the side of the head. She twitched to get out of the way but, weakened from fatigue, her reflexes had slowed enough to where there was no way she could have avoided the strike. The barrel of the gun made contact with her left temple, a yelp of pain leaving her chest as she crumpled to the ground.

Valon grunted. That had been way to difficult. Why didn't she just give up already? Some women desperately needed to be put in their place... and this one was prime example number one. Replacing the gun in the holster Valon bent over, scooping up the unconscious woman bridal-style in his arms before carrying her off toward a side street of the complex where one of his cars was waiting. This was it. This was his time to gain what he had been aching to claim for years. The vital region that pressed into his right wrist, the area he'd bled and fought to mark as his, was finally in his grasp. Kosovo wouldn't be Serbian land for much longer. But now that he had her, who was gonna stop him from having fun with her? She had put him through hell and back. And now there she was, laying limp and vulnerable in his arms. This was going to be a good night.

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Two hours, aaand... DONE. I feel good about where this is going. It definitely makes me happy to be writing again. The next chapter's gonna be heavily censored for FF and dA, so expect it to be a little short. As I said above, the full version can be found on my Adult FanFiction page.


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